


Omne Trium Perfectum

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi, Post-S7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2173524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Everything that comes in threes is perfect.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Problematis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uniquepov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquepov/gifts).



> For Uniquepov on the occasion of her birthday (August 21st). I know you've seen some early stages of this, but I hope you'll enjoy it despite that! Sorry it's not complete; I hope to have all chapters up within a week or so.

“Something wrong, love? You’re very quiet this morning.” Robbie sets his coffee down and studies Laura, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

She smiles quickly back at him. “I’m fine. I was just thinking.” A quick nod, as if she’s been deciding whether to say anything, and she continues. “Did you see James’s face in the pub yesterday?”

Robbie frowns, puzzled. “He’s a bit tanned, yeah. Only to be expected — hasn’t he been working out of doors, painting an’ that?”

Laura shakes her head. “I didn’t mean that. I meant the way he looked at first when he realised we were together.”

Robbie hesitates, thinking back. “Now you mention it, he did seem a bit quiet. But he hasn’t been his sunny self for a while. Been worried about him, to be honest.” He rubs his ear. “Mind, he did seem happy when he came into the pub. Seemed like he was glad to be back.”

“And then I plastered myself against you and kissed you in front of everyone. He was not a happy chappy after that, Robbie.”

“Ah, his nose is out of joint ‘cause I didn’t tell him meself, that’s all. He’ll get over it.” Robbie drains his coffee and stands, reaching for his jacket. “Thanks for breakfast, love. See you tonight?”

Laura stands as well and grips his hands. “Robbie, I don’t think that’s all it is. I think…” She hesitates again, and Robbie looks down at her, puzzled. What is she getting at? “When I looked around and saw him, he smiled and did his best impression of someone looking pleased for his colleagues — but just for a second, before he realised I could see him, he looked _gutted_.”

Gutted? James? Robbie casts his mind back to those few minutes after Laura greeted him so enthusiastically. “You know, now I think on it, his smiles weren’t genuine. An’ he made his excuses pretty early, too.” Shaking his head, he asks, “What are you thinking? He wasn’t... You don’t think he fancied his chances with you?”

“Oh, Robbie.” Laura sighs, shaking her head. “Not with _me_.”

He stares at her, brows creasing, and after a moment the penny drops. “No.” She’s not serious, surely? But she nods slowly. “With _me_? But why...? It doesn’t make sense — I’m hardly his type!”

“Aren’t you?”

“Don’t be daft! Apart from anything else, I’m an old fart who doesn’t even have a degree! Hardly the kind of person a cleverclogs like Hathaway would be interested in.”

Laura snorts. Robbie drops back into his chair, and she sits next to him. “I’ll thank you not to call my boyfriend an _old fart_ , if you please,” she comments crisply before adding, “Apart from the fact that you’re far more intelligent than you let on, and James is very much aware of that, _of course_ you’re his type. And besides, if you’re getting hung up on age, he’s an old soul, isn’t he? I get the feeling that he doesn’t have much in common with people his own age.”

That’s true. And he and James always have got on well, haven’t they? What was it James said a couple of years ago? _No-one else would understand me_. 

But to go from that to — what? Fancying him? No. No, that’s not it, is it — or not all of it. 

His detective’s brain reflects on the evidence — evidence that goes back years, and isn’t he a blind fool for not seeing it sooner? Hundreds of little kindnesses and several larger ones, none particularly notable in isolation, but put together making up a far bigger picture. Simon Monkford’s arrest and trial. Chloe Brooks. Keeping him company on far too many maudlin evenings to mention. 

Robbie’d put it all down to loyalty and friendship, but it’s far more than that. And add in the flirting, which he’d assumed was yet more mockery and teasing, and he has to admit that Laura really is right. Now that she’s made him think about what’s really been going on, he knows full well. James is — or thinks he is — in love with him. 

Brows drawn together, Robbie looks at Laura. “But I’m not gay. He knows that.”

“Doesn’t stop someone hoping, Robbie. I mean, I’d got to the point of thinking you’d never be able to get past Val — which was fine, by the way, I completely understood – but it never stopped me hoping that you _might_ one day...” She shrugs, head tilted to one side. “Your James is a pretty tenacious man, you know, and very loyal. And the two of you have been very close for a long time.” 

“I know, I know. I just — sodding hell, what am I supposed to do about it?” Before she can answer, another worry occurs to him. “What about you? You’re not bothered by it, I hope? You know I—”

Laura catches his hand and squeezes it. “I’m not worried for myself, Robbie. I _am_ worried about James, though. And so should you be.”

He huffs in exasperation. “When am I not worried about him? But what can I do? He’ll just have to get used to us bein’ together, that’s all there is to it.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Laura points out. “What if he resigns after all? I know you’ve been worried that he will. What if this is the tipping-point that pushes him back to the priesthood?”

“His decision, isn’t it? He’s a grown man! He can make his own choices.” Though that’s a choice he hopes very much that James won’t make. It’s not right for the bloke, and if Robbie doesn’t miss his guess it’d only make him miserable. Worse than miserable.

“And how many times has he made disastrous choices because he’s distressed? You know you don’t want that happening, Robbie. You’d never forgive yourself.”

He sighs. She’s right, much as he’d prefer not to admit it. “Still don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s not like I could be what he wants, even if you and I weren’t seein’ each other.”

“But what does he want? Or, rather, what would he settle for? He’s been settling for years, after all,” Laura points out. As Robbie frowns, not following, she continues, “Oh, Robbie! The two of you’ve been acting like an old married couple for years! You spend more time with him than anyone else. Any time you’ve been at a loose end, who did you phone? You only started spending so much time with me because James went on holiday — not that I’m complaining.” She grins. “Even then, you spent our first lunch date telling me how worried you were about him. Now he’s seeing you in love with someone else, _and_ assuming you won’t be available to him the way you used to be.”

Okay, from James’s perspective, it probably does look like that. No more two or three pints after work, or sharing a takeaway and watching crap telly together. He hasn’t just lost the faint — and surely he recognised how unlikely it was? — possibility of a relationship, but also a best mate.

“But I wouldn’t stop bein’ his mate,” Robbie protests. “Why would I?”

“Does he know that? Does he know you consider him a friend?” Robbie starts to make an indignant protest, but Laura cuts across him. “You call him names, you order him around, you disrupt his holiday because it suits you — and, yes, I know you’re his boss. You even make him call you _sir_ off-duty.”

“What? I don’t make him! He’s just always done it.”

“And have you once suggested otherwise? Come on, Robbie. What did I once tell you about making sure people know how you feel? James _doesn’t_ know.”

Robbie shoves back his chair, ready to get up. “Ah, that’s nonsense. He knows I like him fine. Doesn’t need me to tell him.” It’s obvious, isn’t it? There’s no way James couldn’t know how much Robbie appreciates him and enjoys his company.

Laura moves, coming to stand behind him with her hands on his shoulders. “This is James. You’re always telling me how he puts himself down behind that cleverclogs exterior. I know you love him, but I bet he hasn’t got the faintest idea.”

“What?” He turns in his seat, then stands, grasping Laura’s hands. “What are you talking about? I love _you_ — did you happen to forget me tellin’ you over an’ over in your bed last night?”

“Not like that.” Laura’s eyes sparkle as she gives him a pretend-exasperated look. “As a friend. As someone you care about. As someone you’d be devastated over if he’d been killed, as he almost was last month — remember? I bet you never even told him that.”

Robbie huffs out a sigh again. “I need to go to work, love.” He bends and kisses her, slow and lingering. “Look, I don’t know what I can do about James—” 

“Start by showing him nothing’s changed. Buy him lunch to welcome him home, unless you get caught up in a case. And don’t stop spending time with him outside work, even if it’s not as much as before. Just make sure he knows he’s still important to you.”

He’s tempted to roll his eyes — women and their touchy-feely emotional stuff — but remembers that Val never steered him wrong on this sort of stuff, did she? Even the times she encouraged him to say something nice to Morse, ask how he was and that, she was right. It made a difference.

“All right. I’ll try.” He kisses her again, this time quickly, and heads for the door. “Now I really have to go, else my smartarse sergeant’s going to report me as a missing person!”

* * *

When he gets into work, James is already there, every inch the dutiful sergeant again. He glances up as Robbie enters the office, expression completely professional. “Good morning, sir. I have a few updates for you—”

“Ah, don’t be in such a rush! Anyway, what are you doing here? You’ve still got three days of your holiday left.”

Instantly, James looks away. “I thought, since I had already been interrupted—”

Robbie heaves a sigh. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about that, but you were on the spot an’ it only made sense.”

“It’s perfectly all right, sir.”

Time to take Laura’s advice. “I’m glad to have you back, you daft sod. It just bothers me that you’ve lost out on your holiday.”

“It really isn’t a problem, sir,” James insists, still professionally smooth, and then reverts to business. “Anyway, as I mentioned, there are updates. First, the Border Agency got back to Innocent on the soon to be former Chief Superintendent Cornish. No concerns on record. It appears that we can’t charge him with anything.”

“Aye, I figured that would be the case.” Robbie goes to his own desk and sits, immediately booting up his computer. “For his wife’s sake, I’m not sorry. Those kids are gonna have a rough enough time as it is without having to visit their dad in jail.”

“Yes, I understand he was a friend of yours, sir. I’m sorry.” Polite concern gives way to equally polite matter-of-factness. “Next, DC Gray brought the forensic results on the Faulkner kitchen. Traces of blood and brain matter are a match for Johnny Jay. And, while I’m on the subject, you replaced me with a Detective _Constable_ , sir? If I’m not performing to the required standard, there are better ways to let me know.”

In a different tone of voice, that would be classic Hathaway sarkiness – but like this it’s cold offence.

“Ah, give over.” Robbie huffs. “I’m told he was the only one put up his hand to volunteer. Anyway, you heard Innocent last night. According to her, she was me partner on the case. Apparently, the only adequate substitute for Sergeant _Hathaway_ is a Chief Superintendent.”

For a split second, there’s almost a hint of a smile on James’s face. 

“What I’d like to know,” Robbie continues, “is why you’re suddenly feeling the need to call me _sir_ in every second breath. I keep waiting for the mockery. Cut it out, will you? Now, anything else?”

“Yes.” Still formal, and with a posh accent Robbie could cut with a knife, James adds, “Congratulations, by the way.” Robbie raises an eyebrow, deliberately not replying. “You and Dr Hobson. I hope you’ll be very happy together.” Better; not as stiff, and he’s clearly making an effort to be nice.

So Robbie gives him a warm smile. “Thanks, man. Was a bit of a surprise – but the time was right, an’ there she was. Now, about those forensic reports...”

By lunchtime, James is almost, though not quite, back to normal. They’ve got each other up to date not only on the Johnny Jay and related cases, but also on other investigations that had stalled before James went away. Discussion has been friendly, with even a hint of mockery from time to time.

But what’s missing — and Robbie wonders if he would even have noticed without Laura telling him what she believes James’s feelings for him to be — are the little things. The way James would normally stand or sit close to him, their arms or shoulders frequently brushing as one or the other points out something on the computer. Occasional eye contact, usually to share a private joke or mutual appreciation of something ridiculous. The little smiles, frequently no more than brief upward curves of James’s lips, that show he’s pleased by something. There’s none of that this morning. And Robbie bets that if they went for a drink James wouldn’t sit close to him.

Blast it, why does the lad have to be like this?

Though that’s not fair. If James really is in love with him — and that makes no sense, but then so much about James doesn’t make sense sometimes — it’s hardly reasonable to blame him for being upset now that the object of his affection is in a relationship with someone else. James presumably can’t help how he feels, any more than he and Laura can help how they feel about each other.

“Come on, we’re getting out of here,” he announces at half past twelve. “Lunch is on me - bet you didn’t have much in the way of decent food in Pristina.”

“Actually, sir, Kosovan food is delicious. I think even you would be impressed.” James stands and follows him out of the office without demur. Good; he’s over the brooding, at least. “Lots of meat, beans, potatoes, peppers, rice and other familiar ingredients — and I suspect you’d enjoy bureks.”

“What are they when they’re at home, then?”

“Filo pastry stuffed with meat, meat and cheese, or cheese and spinach. They’re usually served with sour cream. They’re not specifically Kosovar — they’re common to most of the ethnic cultures of former Yugoslavia...” 

Robbie lets James talk on as they walk through the city centre. He had initially thought of the White Horse for a pie and a pint, but quickly realised that was a bad idea. The last thing he wants to do right now is remind James of yesterday evening. The Buttery will be too busy. Instead, he diverts into New Inn Hall Street and heads for Mortons, directing James to get a table while he orders. Paninis and side-salads are delivered to their table a few minutes later.

Robbie’s plan, such as it is, is to behave completely as normal. Apart from the fact that James would notice if he did or said anything different, he has no idea what the hell he would say if he were to try. Show James he’s still important to him regardless of what’s changed in his life, Laura said — yes, but how is he supposed to do that? 

James brings up the subject of Laura as they’re halfway through lunch. “I really am very happy for you and Dr Hobson. I will admit that it was something of a surprise, given what you said last year — and I was away for what, four days?”

“A lot can happen in four days.” Robbie glances down, trying to hide the smile he can’t hold back. It really was a lovely four days — not that he’ll say that to James.

“Clearly.” James smiles briefly; it almost reaches his eyes. “I hope you and Dr Hobson will let me buy you a drink to celebrate. Tonight, if nothing else interferes?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. Have to check with Laura, mind, but... yeah.”

* * *

They do go for a drink, the three of them, and James is clearly exerting himself to be happy for them — even managing to produce a few typically mocking comments. The act’s almost convincing, so much so that Robbie wonders if he’d have seen through it if Laura hadn’t alerted him to what’s really going on inside James’s head.

James is up at the bar getting their drinks, and he wraps his arm around Laura, drawing her close — they’ve already agreed that they’ll tone down the overt affection in front of James, so as not to rub it in, but the bar’s busy and they’ve got a few minutes to themselves. Only not as many as he thought; a familiar voice comes from above his head. “Ah, young love.” 

“If we’re young, I shudder to think what you are,” Laura quips, smiling up at James. 

“They do say coppers get younger every day,” Robbie adds. “Maybe I should put in a requisition for a playpen in the office.”

“Clearly love has a rejuvenating effect, sir.” James slides into the seat opposite them and passes around the drinks. “You’ve been looking extremely chipper all day. And Dr Hobson is nothing short of radiant.” 

Laura looks at Robbie, arching an eyebrow. “Now, how come you never pay me compliments like that? You could learn a lot from James here.”

Robbie groans, and out of habit kicks James under the table. “Now see what you’ve done.”

“Oops.” James’s lips twitch, before he sobers and turns to Laura. “ _His words may be gruff, and no silver tongue hath he, but there’s no more honest or steadfast man to be found in this land._ ”

Robbie blinks. “Who’s that, then?”

“Nothing I recognise,” Laura comments.

James smiles faintly. Ah. Made it up himself, did he? Robbie’d suspect more mockery, but by the way the lad’s not meeting his eyes he knows better. It’s a genuine compliment, sincerely meant. 

Laura, thankfully, changes the subject. “So, how was your holiday, James? Before Robbie sent you on a wild chase through the Croatian countryside, that is.”

James takes a long swallow of his pint before answering. “Apparently, nowhere near as exciting as events here in my absence. Clearly, I should have gone on holiday long before now, if that’s what it took to bring Inspector Lewis to his senses.” 

The tone’s jovial and, yes, faintly mocking as always, but the smile that accompanies James’s words doesn’t reach his eyes. Yet there’s no doubt that his sergeant is glad for the two of them in spite of his own feelings. Bloody typical James, that is. 

The lad’ll sort himself out, though. Just give it time. After all, it’s a bit daft, really, isn’t it? A young bloke like James having feelings for an old sod like him? 

He really does hope James will sort himself out, and soon, Robbie reflects as he and Laura drive back to his flat. It’s not only that he doesn’t want to risk losing the bloke’s friendship over this. It’s that the thought of James being hurt is intolerable.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, though, things seem to be improving. They’ve fallen back into their normal working relationship, even if there are slightly fewer pints after work. Cases get investigated, suspects and witnesses get interviewed and reports get written, with no reduction in the amount of accompanying esoteric quotes and erudite references from Robbie’s sergeant. 

Even on his day off, when he runs into James in the home decor section, there’s no diminution of the mockery in James’s comments on his attempts to ‘spruce up the bachelor pad’, though he does wonder if there’s more bite behind it than usual. Later, though, when he phones James for last-minute advice on the roast chicken, the bloke’s perfectly genuine in his reassurance. 

All’s well, he hopes. 

Until Lyn phones him about his grandson and he takes James aside to tell him that he’s going to put in for retirement. James is sympathetic, as always, but when he mentions Laura James’s tone goes flat — just for an instant, but it’s noticeable. And then the conversation takes a completely weird direction. Not for the first time, James hints — well, more than hints, really — that he doesn’t want to stay in the police without Robbie, and he practically leaps on Robbie’s joke about an allotment and a dinghy.

It’s only later that Robbie realises he’s told James about retiring before mentioning a word to Laura. It’s just the way the timing worked out, he tells himself, but still: it had felt completely natural to confide in James, the way he always has. 

If he does retire — _when_ he retires — he hopes James really is going to want to find some things they can do together, so that they’ll still see each other regularly. And that they can find some sort of comfortable balance between the friendship and affection he feels for the lad and whatever James feels for him.

They will, though, if they both want it badly enough. And, given the wistful longing James actually let him see just now, it’s patently obvious how much James wants it.

* * *

And then Adam Tibbit hangs himself, and James goes into a spiral of tortured guilt.

It’s not anything he hasn’t done before, as Robbie tells Laura, but he worries that this is worse. James refused his invitation to dinner with him and Laura, but in the past he’d have refused Robbie’s invitation to the pub, so nothing new there. The only difference is that in the past he’d have pulled rank and ordered James to the pub — only to sit in near-silence with the lad staring off into space and _sir_ ing him with every rare word.

So, when Laura suggests later that he go around to James’s flat and make sure he’s all right, Robbie shakes his head. “No point. He either won’t be there or he’ll have an excuse not to let me in — and he’ll have whisky on his breath. Easier for both of us if I don’t see him like that.”

Easier in terms of regulations as well as James’s pride; while what the lad does off-duty is mostly his own business, if Robbie sees — as opposed to suspecting — that he’s drinking himself into oblivion over something work-related, he’d have to do something about it. Which of course he would if he thought it would help, but he knows James well enough to be aware that doing something about it could be a tipping-point in the wrong direction.

Turns out it’s a tipping-point anyway, because even once the murderer is arrested and more information gathered along the way has shown that Adam’s suicide was much more likely to have been because of what his father and Carl Drew did, James announces he’s going to resign. He means it, too; nothing Robbie says will change his mind. All he can do is accept that James means it.

The difference in the bloke’s demeanour once Robbie does accept his decision is striking. Seems it wasn’t the decision to resign that weighed most heavily on his mind; it was how Robbie would react. Worried that Robbie would feel he’d let him down, maybe? That’s confirmed when James asks, clearly troubled by the thought, whether Robbie feels that training him has been a waste. He wants to say it’s a ridiculous question, but instead treats it seriously, and they reach an understanding.

He’s relieved, as well, by James’s confirmation that they won’t stop spending time together just because they’re no longer colleagues. Maybe it is a case of wanting to have his cake and eat it, but he wants to have both James and Laura in his life for a long time to come.

On their second pint, he asks, “When were you planning to go?”

James shrugs. “Hadn’t quite got that far yet. I suppose I’d need to balance out the official notice period with outstanding leave — though if there are things you need me to finish first...?”

“Wasn’t thinking of that.” He takes a drink. “I am retirin’ — Laura an’ I have agreed. Haven’t actually put in for it yet. Was trying to decide on timing. I was just thinking...” He meets James’s gaze, and the bloke nods encouragingly. “Don’t much fancy still being on the job with you gone. Why don’t we time it so that we go together?”

The surprise and pleasure that lights up James’s expression makes Robbie pause and just look at him. It’s been so long since he’s seen the bloke smile like that, unguarded and genuinely pleased, and in that moment he recognises that he’d do almost anything to make James smile like that again. No, not just smiling — smiling _at him_. For him.

And he’s reminded once again of James’s feelings for him — and for the first time part of him, maybe even more than part, wishes he could give the lad what he wants. Surely James deserves, for once in his life, to get something he wants?

But he’s got Laura, loves Laura — and anyway, he’s not attracted to blokes.

* * *

“So you’re both going to hand in your notice tomorrow? Innocent’s going to be beside herself.” Laura’s next to him in bed, close enough to kiss — so he does.

“Yeah, she won’t be happy,” he acknowledges as he pulls back. “She’s been trying to talk me out of retiring, and I know she’s got her eye on James for a senior position one way or another. She’s just gonna have to accept it, though.”

“Mmm.” Laura strokes her hand down his arm. “What’s James going to do?”

Robbie frowns as it dawns on him that he has no idea. “Didn’t ask him. Should have. I dunno — knowing him, he might have it all worked out, or he might have no idea himself. Depends how long he’s been thinking about resigning.” He considers for a moment, then adds, “Actually, I reckon he’s been thinking about it for a while. At least a year, probably more.” There was that offer of a research job at St Gerard’s, and James making clear that his decision depended on Robbie. Maybe James always intended to leave once Robbie resigned. “He’s not been happy in the job for a long time. Wouldn’t talk to me about it, though.”

Laura raises an eyebrow. “Did you try to?”

He huffs out a breath. “He knows he can always talk to me.”

She snorts. “Men. You never actually asked him, did you?” Robbie pulls a face. “Is he all right?” Laura continues. “He was really cut up about that boy’s suicide. I’d hate to think he’s still blaming himself.”

“Don’t think he is, not now. It’s pretty clear that it was his father and Carl Drew scheming to get him into Oxford an’ him finding out he’s not good enough that did it. That’s not to say he’s not still upset about it, but he’s getting past it.” Robbie raises his eyebrows. “You seem awfully worried about him.” 

“Clever deduction, DI Lewis,” Laura comments tartly. “You’re not the only one who’s fond of James, in case you didn’t realise it. Or who worries about him. And speaking of, you should ask him if he has something definite in mind. Unlike you, he won’t have a pension.”

Robbie nods. That had occurred to him, though he knows James wouldn’t appreciate him pointing it out as a reason not to make hasty decisions. “And on a sergeant’s salary and the cost of living in Oxford, he won’t have much in the bank. Especially considering his smoking habit.” 

“Well, we won’t let him starve. Or go homeless. Plenty of room here, even after you’ve moved all your stuff in.”

“Oi!” Robbie’s eyes widen in pretend offence, even as he’s pleased and appreciative of Laura’s suggestion. Course, he’d have offered the same himself if he’d still been living in the flat, but he’s already given his notice and he’ll have moved out completely within a couple of weeks. Also, given Laura’s aware of James’s feelings for him, it’s even more generous of her. “You implying I’ve got too much clutter?”

“All I’m saying is that dreadful shirt you were wearing when you came back from attachment better not find its way into the wardrobe. Understood?”

“Aw, but I was going to make you a present of it.” Robbie waggles his eyebrows. “You never know what the sight of you wearin’ that and nothing else might do to me...”

Laura snorts, sceptical, but then rolls on top of him and proves that she doesn’t need to be wearing a ridiculous shirt to do interesting things to him.

* * *


	2. Quaesitum

“You’re joking! _Both_ of you?” Innocent stares up at them, eyebrows drawn together, disbelief and shock in her face. “All right, Robbie, I can accept that you’re serious about retiring, if you have to. But, James... why? With Lewis going, I surely don’t have to tell you that there’s an inspector’s job waiting for you as soon as you pass OSPRE?”

“No, Ma’am,” James says, for once not an ounce of facetiousness in his voice. “However, I came to the conclusion some time ago that I don’t want to stay in the Force once Inspector Lewis retires — and recent events cemented that decision.”

Robbie’s ready to step in if Innocent tries to browbeat James into changing his mind — but she just studies him for a long moment, then nods. She’s aware of some of the details, after all. “I don’t have to tell you, I hope, that I don’t want to lose you, but I can see that you’ve made your mind up.” She sighs. “Since you’re hardly going to retire, what are you going to do?”

James shrugs faintly. “I have a number of options.”

In other words, Robbie translates, he doesn’t know yet. Well, Laura’s right: they’ll see James all right.

“Well, then,” Innocent says, looking resigned, “I suppose the only thing left to discuss is your notice period...”

* * *

Robbie refuses to take no for an answer this time. James is coming to dinner with him and Laura this evening. “We’re not having takeaway this time, either,” he adds. “Laura said we should celebrate resigning.”

James raises an eyebrow. “Does this mean I get to sample your cooking, sir?”

They’re in their shared office still, so Robbie doesn’t correct him on the name. “We’re both cooking. An, no, I’m not gonna be telling you what bits I cooked.”

“Will you owe me a pint if I guess correctly, though?” 

Robbie grabs a piece of scrunched-up paper from his bin and bowls it at James, who ducks. It’s still a good shot, though; if James hadn’t reacted so quickly, it would’ve hit him square on the forehead. He hasn’t lost his touch, even after all these years. “You obviously didn’t play cricket at that posh school of yours,” he comments with a grin. “Ducking rather than catching?”

“Rowing was my sport, sir, if you’ll remember,” James points out dryly. “The ability to duck low-hanging branches — or poorly-wielded oars — is more of an advantage than the ability to catch.”

Robbie doesn’t bother to smother his smirk. “Can imagine you got a lot of practice at that. Tallest in the crew, were you?”

James ignores his jab, instead getting to his feet and pointedly retrieving the paper and placing it in the recycle bin. “What time tonight?”

Robbie shrugs. “Seven? At least we know we won’t get a callout.” They’re off the rotation, since they’re working out their notice. No point assigning what could be a new major investigation to them if they’ll only have to hand it over after a week or so.

“Uninterrupted sleep for the foreseeable future. _Chief nourisher in life's feast_ , according to Shakespeare. Unless, of course, you’re Dr Hobson.”

“Eh?”

James gives him a bland smile. “Sleep _is_ intended to be restful, sir. Which is difficult to achieve when one is coping with unaccustomed noise.”

“Tosser.” Robbie throws another paper missile at James, and this time succeeds in hitting the side of his head. He’d tell James, of course, that it’s childish to gain pleasure out of something so infantile, but that still doesn’t stop him grinning from ear to ear.

* * *

James arrives on time, armed with a bottle of what Robbie identifies as a pretty decent red — which is taken out of his hand in a smooth move by Laura even as she reaches up to hug him.

James inclines his head, in a gesture Robbie can only describe as courtly, and brushes a kiss against Laura’s cheek. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Oi! Who was it invited you?” Robbie approaches, hands on hips. 

James raises an eyebrow. “I assumed the invitation actually came from Dr Hobson — sorry, Laura,” he amends at Laura’s quick frown. He’s been instructed to drop the formality with her as well these days.

“Seven years I spent training you, an’ you still make assumptions? Just as well you’re not going for promotion!”

“You can talk,” James comments dryly as Robbie passes him a glass of wine. “You’re the one who thought I’d want to.”

“Break it up, you two, or I’ll make you kiss and make up,” Laura says, sliding her hand into Robbie’s. 

James’s eyebrows shoot up, and he takes a gulp of wine — probably, Robbie suspects, to cover up his blush — then shakes his head. “As Robbie pointed out just yesterday, he is still my boss — for now — and I’m sure there’s a regulation somewhere that would call that gross insubordination, or lack of respect for authority, or something along those lines.”

Robbie chooses his words carefully, mindful of what he’s now certain are James’s feelings for him. “More like bad taste.” He smirks slightly. “For you, I mean, not me.”

Laura snorts, then announces it’s time to serve dinner.

Over the meal, Laura catches James’s eye. “So, what are you planning to do once you’re an unemployed copper?” It’s a tone Robbie knows only too well, one that demands an answer.

James’s hesitation is evidence that he still has no firm plans. “I’ve been looking at applications for postgraduate study,” he finally says. “And, actually, I had intended to bring this up.” He turns to Robbie. “I need people to act as referees. I can ask my tutors from Cambridge, but it’s been some time since I’ve had any contact. It would be... helpful... to have someone who’s known me more recently. I was wondering...” He trails off, as if he’s unsure of Robbie’s reaction.

“Don’t be daft, man!” James’s face falls. “Course I’ll give you a reference! Mind, you’ll need to buy me a few pints between now an’ when I have to write it, if you want me to avoid certain words. Like _smartarse_ an’ _over-educated_ an’ _know-all_...” Robbie grins as James frowns at him.

“Ignore him, James. You can use me,” Laura says. “The worst I’ll say is _poor taste in music_. Oh, come on,” she adds as he pouts. “I don’t mind a bit of Gregorian chant, but that last thing I heard you listening to was about as cheerful as a visit to the dentist.”

“One of these days,” James says, lips very faintly curved, “I’m going to find sheet music for a duet for clarinet and guitar. Then you can see what you think of my taste in music.”

“You’re on!” Laura promises. Robbie determines to make sure he’s around when it happens, if it does. In all these years, he’s never heard James play, and he only heard Laura play that one time — and he missed most of the concert.

“I thought you wouldn’t approve, actually,” James says then, looking at Robbie. “Bloody academics and all that.”

Bloody academics, yeah, but... it’s James. “If it’s what’ll make you happy, I’m fine with it. Won’t stop me taking the piss, though, I’ll warn you.” 

But is it really what the lad wants? Robbie’s not seeing the kind of enthusiasm he’d expect. And come to think of it, James wasn’t wildly enthusiastic back when that Professor Pinnock sort of offered him that research job. Oh, he knows, can see, that James needs to get out of CID, but is he heading towards something he really wants, or the first possible escape-route he can think of?

Well, there’s time yet. It’ll be months before any application would be accepted, and then James would probably have to wait until September next year to start. Plenty of time for him to change his mind, or find a better option. And plenty of time for Robbie to talk sense into him if it really looks like this is an escape-route rather than a real career choice.

And — even though it is the bloody university — at least he’s not going back to the priesthood, which has been Robbie’s worst fear since the lad announced he was resigning. So things could be a lot worse, all told.

* * *

“Sure you don’t mind helping? It’s not exactly the most fun way to spend your evening.” Robbie looks across the office at James, brows furrowed.

“And, of course, my social life is so hectic that I have to cancel at least six other commitments to come and help you pack,” James responds, his tone wry. “Of course I don’t mind. What time do you need me?”

Robbie shrugs. “If you’re all right with it, come over straight after work? I’ll get a takeaway.” 

James nods. “I’ll need to go home and change first, but I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

Robbie’s packed most of the easy stuff: his clothes, a lot of which have already made their way over to Laura’s; bedding and bathroom stuff, CDs and other little things. Tonight, his goal is to clear out the kitchen, figuring out what can be given away and what he should keep — and then the hardest job, which is to sort through the things of Val’s he still has. Of course Laura won’t want him to get rid of them, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to bring tangible memories of his first wife into his new relationship. 

James will help him figure out what to do. The bloke’s never steered him wrong yet.

A few hours later, everything’s packed and boxes are stacked in three groups: for the bin, to go to the charity shop, and to be taken over to Laura’s. James has been invaluable, as Robbie’d hoped: a hard worker, of course, but also a reliable source of appropriate mocking comments when needed. When it came to Val’s things, however, he’d been sympathetically matter-of-fact. “Laura knew Val, didn’t she? And she knows how hard it’s been for you over the last ten years. If you think she’d be offended that you still have a few items of sentimental value to you... well, you’re not giving Laura credit, Robbie. If I know her, she’d be more upset that you considered not keeping these.” 

The bloke’s right and, as they relax at last on the couch with a beer, Robbie says as much. “Dunno what I’d’ve done without you this evening. You always know how to make me see sense.”

James shrugs, his shoulder rubbing against Robbie’s. “You usually know the answer yourself. I just give you a shove in the right direction.”

“You do, at that.” He takes a drink, then turns to study James. “Not sure if you need me to do the same for you.”

James’s expression turns wary. “How do you mean?”

“This plan of yours to go back to university. No, no—” He holds up a hand as James is about to protest. “If I thought it was what you really wanted, I’d be all for it. But you sounded about as enthusiastic the other night as I did going to the dentist last year.”

The lad looks defensive for a moment, but then sighs. “I hadn’t realised it was that obvious.”

“Known you long enough, man,” Robbie points out gently. 

“I’m sure I’d enjoy it once I get started. It just feels...” James expels a long breath. “It’s as if I’m back where I started when I left the seminary. Another failed career behind me.”

“Hardly failed!” Robbie protests. “You’re a bloody brilliant copper. Not your fault you had a run of difficult cases. And before you argue wi’ me, you weren’t responsible for that poor lad. It’s his teacher and his dad who put the sort of pressure on him he wasn’t able to deal with — and they’ll have to live with that. Look,” he adds, “why don’t you take your time to decide what you want to do? There’s no need to rush into anything.”

“Mmm.” James’s tone is non-committal, and Robbie knows that’s as far as he can push it. So he reaches for the remote control — they haven’t dismantled the telly yet — and finds an episode of _The Chase_ , allowing James to show off his cleverness.

This might be the last time they’ll spend an evening like this, he can’t help thinking; as of tomorrow, he’ll be living at Laura’s. But... well, James will come over to Laura’s, won’t he? And there’ll be nights when Laura’s working and he’ll be on his own — though, he reminds himself, maybe it’s not fair to expect James to be his fallback companion. Best let James decide what he’s willing to do.

James stretches as the programme ends. “Suppose it’s time I made a move — unless you want to take some of these boxes over tonight?”

“Nah, I’m staying here tonight. Laura’s working.” He turns to James, just as the bloke shifts and turns to him. “Sure you won’t have another...”

He trails off, finding his gaze fixed on James, who’s staring back at him, eyes wide. Something’s shifted between them in the last few seconds, and Robbie can’t look away, can’t stop his gaze dropping to James’s lips. Somehow, all the air’s been sucked out of the room, and they’re moving closer to each other and, Christ, he’s going to...

James springs up off the sofa, raking hands through his hair. “I need to... it’s time I... Erm... Goodnight, Robbie.” And, before Robbie can say a word, or even try to make sense of what’s just happened, James is gone.

* * *

What the hell just happened? Did he really almost kiss James?

He did. He was thinking about it. He would have, too, but for James putting a stop to it. Christ. How the hell did that happen? 

It must have been the beer. And some sort of nostalgia about leaving this flat, maybe. Just as well James had his head properly screwed on.

He’s in a relationship with Laura. He _loves_ Laura. How could he even have thought of kissing someone else?

* * *

By morning, Robbie’s almost persuaded himself it didn’t really happen. They were both tired. They’d been reminiscing a bit, and talking about James’s future post-police. It had just been a moment of... well, fondness between them, that’s all. No need to think about it any more.

When he arrives down the nick, James is completely businesslike, the model of a perfect sergeant, though with the usual hints of his own unique brand of humour along the way. Clearly, James thinks nothing of it, despite his hasty departure last night. It’s a huge relief to see that whatever it was that happened on the sofa is over and done with and isn’t affecting their working relationship. Or their friendship, he hopes.

And it seems like it hasn’t. Over the next week or so, James behaves just as normal: cheeky sod and a smartarse when he feels like it, a cleverclogs the rest of the time, and apparently happy to go for a drink with his boss a couple of times a week. The one thing that doesn’t happen is that they’re not alone together; James never invites Robbie over to his flat, and Robbie doesn’t invite James to Laura’s on the evenings Laura’s on duty. 

Maybe it was mainly his imagination, after all. Whatever it was, all that matters is that it hasn’t happened again and that their friendship is as solid regardless.

And then it’s their last day, and their joint leaving do. 

James and Robbie’s departure has been a major topic of gossip and speculation around the nick ever since the announcement went out. Robbie’s less so: he is almost at retirement age, so most people aren’t particularly surprised that he’s going, though it’s been surprising — to him — and flattering to have so many people come up to him and tell him they’ll miss him and that he’s a big loss to the force. James, though, is another story altogether. Only in his late thirties, with over twenty years in which he could have sped his way through the ranks, and widely acknowledged as the best sergeant in the nick and a shoo-in for the next inspector vacancy — and he’s resigning? Nobody can make any sense of it, and James, unsurprisingly, isn’t explaining.

He is having second thoughts about applying to university, Robbie thinks. James hasn’t said anything further to him on the subject, but Robbie recognises the signs of his partner rethinking a significant decision. Which, of course, will make him even more disinclined to discuss it with anyone else.

So the retirement/leaving party, held in one of their favourite pubs, is going to be a special sort of hell for James. He’s never been a sociable person at the best of times — and neither has Robbie, Laura points out; she’s never forgotten the fact that he sneaked out of her birthday party — but a party where the focus will be on James, and where just about everyone is going to want to ask him why he’s leaving and what he’s doing next... he’ll hate every second of it.

“We’ll need to stick close to him,” Robbie points out to Laura on their way there. “Well, one of us at all times. I don’t want him disappearing, or spending all evening outside smoking, because he’s feeling under pressure.”

“Mm.” Laura nods once. “I was going to say the same thing. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he texts you with some excuse and doesn’t come at all.”

“He’ll be there,” Robbie replies with confidence. “Innocent herself told him he was expected to attend. Got the impression she’d send an escort to find him if he dared to disobey her.”

Laura tuts. “Poor bloke.”

“It’s only one evening. Two hours of pretending to be sociable, that’s all.”

“Which will probably feel like an eternity to him,” Laura points out as they get out of the car. She’s right, of course, but there’s not much he can do about that, other than stick close to James.

They’re about to walk into the pub when a tall figure detaches himself from the wall and strolls over. Robbie shakes his head. “Didn’t fancy going in on your own?”

James shudders in lieu of a reply. Laura threads her arm through his. “Come on, Hathaway, I’m getting thirsty and you owe me a cocktail.”

“I do?” Robbie smiles as James walks obediently into the pub. “Naturally, I’m always happy to buy you a drink, but...”

“Thanks to you and Robbie, I’ll have fewer intelligent coppers attending my PMs in future.”

“Leaving you at the mercy of Peterson and co, are we?” James murmurs, his tone sympathetic.

“You are indeed, and if you weren’t two of my favourite people I’d never speak to either of you again,” Laura retorts.

James glances in Robbie’s direction, smirking faintly. “That might be difficult for the two of you. Although I do understand that some couples come to understand each other so well words are rarely required.”

Laura looks beyond James at Robbie, raising an eyebrow. “You two should know all about that!”

* * *

Half an hour later, Laura’s wandered off and is chatting with Jean Innocent, and Robbie’s with James in a corner of the pub, where they’re both nursing their pints in relative silence. Every now and then, a well-wisher comes over to shake their hands and make polite conversation, and a couple are indeed ill-advised enough to ask James what his plans are. The first time or two this happened, Robbie felt James stiffen, though his apparently-casual answer was a non-committal “This and that.”

This time, it’s Peterson’s sergeant, a nosy individual by name of Wallace, who’s dared to ask the question. Before James can trot out his vague answer, Robbie cuts in. “I’m gonna keep him on as me minion.” 

Wallace’s face is a picture, and after a moment he backs away, muttering something unintelligible. And James bursts out laughing. “What’s the going rate for a minion these days?” he asks once he’s finally able to speak again. “Just in case I decide to go into business as a professional minion for hire.”

“Not sure I can permit that,” Robbie says, frowning. “I’d want exclusive rights. As for the going rate, a pint every once in a while seems fair to me.”

“Sold.” James holds out his empty glass. Robbie grins and heads to the bar. 

He’s waiting for their drinks when it occurs to him that he’s left James alone, and with a sense of trepidation he looks around to where he last saw the bloke. James is in conversation with someone, and for a moment Robbie starts to feel anxious — until someone moves, and he realises that it’s Laura. James has his head dipped as he listens to something she’s saying and, he notices after a moment, Laura is resting her hand against James’s back. 

He adds a drink for Laura to his order — tonic and lime; Laura’s the designated driver, despite her earlier teasing about wanting a cocktail — and gets back to the two of them just in time for Innocent’s speech. 

The speech is as embarrassing as Robbie’d expected, but a lot shorter; he suspects he can thank Laura for that. And the presents are both funny and considerate: gardening tools, tickets for the FA Cup Final at Wembley and a night in a posh hotel for Robbie, and a Costa Coffee gift card, air tickets and accommodation for a weekend in Bologna for James. Robbie doesn’t understand the significance of Bologna until James’s self-deprecating and appreciative acceptance speech: not only the oldest continually-operating university in the world, but originally established, as part of the Holy Roman Empire, to teach Catholic canon law. Someone did their homework; he suspects Innocent must have phoned a friend or two at the university here.

And this, now, is when it hits Robbie that it’s really happening. He’s retiring, and James is leaving. Yes, they’d spent the last couple of days sorting through and passing on their active case files to other teams, and earlier they’d cleared out their desks and returned all police property to Innocent, but somehow it hadn’t felt real until just now. 

He isn’t going to be getting up and going to work in the morning — which, okay, isn’t a bad thing. And he isn’t going to be working with James ever again. He’s not going to be seeing the bloke on a daily basis. Once or twice a week for a pint or a meal, that’ll be all — unless he finds a way to make sure that he and James have more of an active presence in each other’s lives. But how he’s going to do that, he has no idea.

* * *

Outside, once they finally manage to slip away, James stops before they reach Laura’s car. “Goodnight, Robbie, Laura. And, Robbie... I know this isn’t the last time we’ll see each other, but I did just want to thank you, again, for everything.” He extends a hand. 

Taken aback by James’s little speech, Robbie reaches out and grips the lad’s hand, even as Laura says, tone bracing, “What are you on about, James? We’re dropping you home, aren’t we? Even if you still had a car, you’ve had too much to drink.”

James backs away slightly. “Thank you, but I’d prefer to walk. It’ll give me a chance to clear my head.” 

It’s one of those times where, Robbie knows very well, there’s going to be no persuading the lad. He sighs, then nods. “All right, then. Phone me in a day or two, all right? Got to discuss when your minion duties start, don’t we?” he adds with a wicked grin.

“Indeed.” James’s lips twitch slightly. “Goodnight again.”

Robbie watches him walk off, and finds that he’s battling the urge to run after James and hug him. They just don’t do stuff like that, him and James. All right, as he knows Laura would point out, they do touch each other a fair bit. But no hugging.

And no kissing — and just where did that thought come from?

He lies awake for a long time that night, head full of thoughts of long, work-free days, needing to get started on filling those days... and the huge vacant space there’s going to be in his life without his lanky, smartarse sergeant next to him all day long. And how even having Laura, who means so much to him, won’t make up for that vacant space.

* * *

“You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve found gainful employment.” James smiles at him over the rim of his pint.

“Oh yeah? Thought you already had a job as me minion?” Though that is good news. He’s been worried about how the lad’s going to survive financially.

“Well, if I am to perform duties as your minion, it would help if you actually gave me some duties to perform.” James gives him a sly grin. “Though, while you did offer payment in kind, pints won’t pay the rent.”

“S’pose it’s all right, then. What’s this job?”

“Tutoring.” James lights up a cigarette. “End of term exams are coming up. Got a couple of students at St Gerards, and I also got a call from someone at a private sixth-form college who’s struggling with Classics.” He exhales a stream of smoke, then takes another drag. “It’s not on a par with a sergeant’s salary, but it’ll help while I figure out what I really want.”

Ah. Acknowledgement that he’s rethinking the student bit. But tutoring. The kind of thing postgrads do to earn a bit of extra drinking money. It’s not a living. Christ. But James would hate any suggestion that Robbie’s worried about his finances — or, worse, that he might offer to help. So he plays it cool. “Should keep you in fags, at least.”

James just smiles faintly. After a pause, Robbie pursues the general point. “So, getting any closer to the big decision? Changing your mind about going back to university, are you?”

James’s shoulders hunch, but after a moment he relaxes. “It’s still one option. And then the question is what I would study. Even despite my affinity for St Gerard’s, I’m not entirely sure that I want to go back to theology. And anything else... well, I don’t have the background to go straight into postgraduate studies, so I’d have to work that out first.” He drains his pint, then takes a last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out. “It’ll work out.” His tone’s casual, dismissive; a clear sign that he wants Robbie not to ask more questions.

“Another?” Robbie gestures at their glasses.

“Better not. I’ve got band practice tonight. The fingering gets a little difficult if I’ve had more than a couple of pints,” James explains dryly. 

They stroll slowly together around to the car park. “Give you a lift?” Robbie offers. 

“Thanks, but no.” He frowns, staring at the lad. Why wouldn’t he want a lift home? ”The exercise will do me good,” James explains. “Now that I’m not chasing after the criminal fraternity of Oxford on a regular basis, I’ll be putting on weight.”

“You’re thin as a rake,” Robbie points out, patting James’s back.

“But that won’t last if I don’t make an effort.” James pats his stomach. “If you ever fancy going for a run, now that you have all this spare time...?”

“Dunno about running.” Robbie pulls a face. “Mind, I might be persuaded to go out in a boat with you some time. Long as you’re doing the rowing, that is.”

“Does this count as minion-like activities?”

“Daresay it does.” Robbie pats the bloke’s back again.

“In that case,” James says, stepping back and clearly preparing to leave, “I shall consider it my duty to invite you out on a boat in the near future.” He raises a hand in a wave of farewell. 

“Bye,” Robbie says, but James is already walking away.

He watches the lad go, and it feels as if a part of himself is being ripped away. He wants to call out, “Come back!” and “I miss you,” or even “Come home with me” — but there’s no point. James won’t. It’s been the same every time they’ve met up; after a couple of pints, James has a reason why he needs to leave, and also why he can’t come back home with Robbie for a takeaway and slouch in front of the telly on nights when Laura’s working.

Well, if Laura’s right and the bloke does have feelings for him, it’s understandable; he’s protecting himself. But, however right it might be for James, it’s not right for Robbie. Almost eight years he’d worked side by side with the annoying smartarse. Eight years during which, at almost any moment during the day, he could turn to James and know that James would look back at him with a conspiratorial smile, a raised eyebrow to ask what Robbie wanted, or a cheeky grin. Eight years in which the lad was close enough to touch, if Robbie’d wanted.

Now, now that he does want, James is nowhere in sight.

* * *

“Tutoring! It’s not enough to keep body and soul together.” In bed later, Robbie’s still worried.

“James is a clever man,” Laura says, tone reassuring. “He can look after himself, you know — and I’d be surprised if he hasn’t got savings put away.”

“From a sergeant’s salary?” Robbie shakes his head. “There’s no way he could. Not with his lifestyle — decent flat, the smoking, his expensive suits...”

“The suits could have been consignment,” Laura muses thoughtfully. “I asked him once where he got them — all right, I was taking the mickey — and all he’d say was that he knew a little place out of the way, in London. But I know what you’re saying, Robbie,” she adds. “I’m worried too.”

“Dunno what to do, though.”

“You know what to do.” She slides her hand over his chest. “No-one understands James better than you do.”

He sighs, bringing his hand up to cover hers. “I keep asking him to come back here for dinner. Though maybe I should ask when you’re going to be here too. That might make it... well, safer for him, I s’pose.”

“That, and just keep being his friend, and don’t stop pushing. You never did when he worked for you, and if you stop now — well, he could feel he’s lost that too?”

“Too?” Robbie frowns.

Laura clucks. “Oh, Robbie, do you really think you’re the only one who’s feeling the loss of what you had all those years? James is too, of course he is. So it’d probably help him if you don’t behave all that differently than you did when you worked together. Well, less of the Sergeant and sending him to do the mucky work, but plenty of winding him up, not letting him get away with things and letting him know when you know things aren’t right with him.”

She’s right, of course, and he acknowledges it by rolling over and kissing her hard, which leads to more enjoyable activities which, just for a while, drive his worries about James out of his mind.

* * *

It gets harder to find time to meet James for a drink over the next few weeks. Not only has his tutoring schedule picked up, but he’s playing guitar in a pub in town for tips a couple of evenings a week. Robbie and Laura wanted to come and listen to him, but when Robbie suggested it James looked horrified and made him promise that they wouldn’t. 

“I’m not playing my best stuff. Nothing like it. It’s all popular stuff and fake folk music — all _recognisable_ things. They don’t want me playing anything that’s actually technically difficult or that requires any real skill.”

“All right, we’ll leave you be — on one condition.”

Robbie hears James sigh over the phone. “What?”

“You come over to ours for dinner soon an’ bring your guitar. Private performance, like.”

“Sing for my supper?” James sounds incredulous, and a little indignant. “I’ll have to find room in my busy schedule,” he adds, and this time Robbie can hear the subtle note of pleasure.

“See that you do.”

However, three weeks pass and nothing’s arranged. James texts occasionally to apologise for not being able to meet Robbie for a drink; apparently, he’s now playing four nights a week, one as backup for a singer. And his tutees are getting anxious as exams approach, and asking him for more time. It’s good for James; he needs the money. That still doesn’t make Robbie stop missing him.

Finally, one cool Monday evening in mid-November, James phones. “Any chance you’re free for a drink? My student cancelled.”

“So I’m second-best to a bloody student, am I?” he grumbles, but arranges to meet, offering to pick James up. But James insists he’ll meet Robbie there. They’re going to the Head of the River, rather than Robbie’s preferred country pubs, due to James’s lack of transport.

Robbie arrives at the pub first and gets a table outside. It’s cold, so only chain-smokers and the very foolish are on the patio. Five minutes later, he glances up and there’s James walking towards him. And he finds he can’t take his eyes away from the sight of the lad.

It’s not that there’s anything different about James — well, his hair’s longer; getting a bit shaggy, in fact. And he’s wearing jeans, a heavy sweater and the kind of anorak he wouldn’t have been seen dead in on the job. But it’s got nothing to do with any of that. It’s just... it’s James, and he hasn’t seen the lad in weeks, and as Robbie watches his easy progress across to the table he’s just transfixed by the look of the bloke. No wonder Laura calls him _dishy_. No wonder all those lasses they met over the years eyed him up and tried to catch his eye. He really is... Christ, he’s gorgeous. And Robbie has to pinch himself when he realises he’s wishing he had actually kissed James all those weeks ago, just to know what it would’ve been like.

Not that it would have been a good idea, of course. It would have been a terrible idea. Betraying Laura, and giving James hope where there’s none — he’d have been the worst sort of bastard. It really is just as well that James had some sense and put a stop to it.

James slides his long legs into the bench-seat opposite Robbie, cocking his head sideways and giving Robbie a teasing grin. Bloody hell — he’d better pull himself together. If James had any idea what he was thinking...

It’s not fair to the bloke. If Laura is right about what James feels for him, and he has any idea that there’s the faintest possibility that Robbie might conceivably find him in some way... attractive... well, what’s the point? Robbie’s still with Laura, and he has no intention of changing that state of affairs.

They chat idly for a while, catching up, and then James announces, “You’ll be pleased to hear, given your opinion of my current state of gainful employment, that I’m applying for some _real_ jobs.”

“Oh, yeah?” Robbie raises an eyebrow.

“Civil service. Local government administration.” James ticks them off on his fingers. “Applications for both submitted online last week. Teaching posts in independent Catholic schools.”

“Eh?” Robbie’s eyes widen. “But you’re not a teacher.”

“I don’t need a PGCE to work in the independent sector,” James explains. “And the fact that I went to a Catholic public school, even a minor one, gives me an advantage. Yes, you can say it should be qualifications that matter, but it’s how things work — and I’m going to need to use every advantage I have to get a job.”

Are things getting that desperate, then? But Robbie doesn’t ask; James would not appreciate it. But he has another concern. “Wouldn’t that mean moving away from Oxford?”

James shrugs. “Most likely — unless I’m fortunate enough to find something at Rye St Antony, which is unlikely. I’d be looking for a live-in position as well, as an assistant housemaster.”

Robbie stands abruptly, collecting their glasses. “Time for another round.” He waves James away when the lad tries to protest that it’s his turn; he just needs to get away from this table for a few minutes while he tries to come to terms with the thought that James might actually leave Oxford. Though the tightness in his chest at the idea doesn’t feel like it’ll go away at all soon.

Why did James have to leave the force anyway?

* * *


	3. Resolutio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With many thanks to Divingforstones for extremely helpful feedback on drafts of this chapter.

“Are you feeling adventurous?”

“Eh?” Robbie frowns into the phone. “What are you on about?”

“A while ago, I promised to take you rowing. How about today?”

“It’s bloody freezing, man!” Robbie objects. “Forecast even says it might rain later. It’s December, for Christ’s sake!”

“Which is why I asked whether you’re feeling adventurous.” He can hear the mocking challenge in the smartarse’s voice. “Of course, if you’re too soft these days, now you’re retired...”

“Oi! I’m from up North, not a soft Southerner like you. Where and when?”

James provides directions, and they agree to meet in the early afternoon. “Dress warmly,” James cautions.

“Glad you said that, man. Might’ve worn me swimming trunks otherwise.” Robbie grins as he ends the call. 

The boat James has waiting for them isn’t anything like what Robbie expected. “You’re not serious, man!” he exclaims, gesturing at the narrow craft. “If I tried to get into that, it’d capsize!”

James grins. “To quote you, don’t be daft. It might not be a dinghy — they’re not suitable for this stretch of the river — but it’s more than big enough. Unless you don’t trust me?”

Oh, that’s done it, hasn’t it? “Course I trust you.”

“Then come on.” James steps into the boat with one foot, straddling solid ground and unsteady, floating rowing boat, and holds out a hand to Robbie. Robbie places his hand in James’s, immediately feeling the younger man’s fingers close tightly around his. He grips back and carefully, awkwardly steps into the boat. James’s firm, steady grip helps him keep his balance as he lowers himself onto the bench. 

He looks up to see James giving him an amused smile. “Oi! At least I didn’t fall in!”

“You did very well,” James comments gravely. “But you can let go of my hand now.”

Robbie feels himself flush, and he pulls his hand free. James’s fingers slide over his palm, and his breath catches. Christ. _Pull yourself together, man_. 

He has to repeat that injunction several times during the course of their journey upriver. He’s sitting facing James, and whether he looks at the lad’s face or his torso as his powerful arms move the oars back and forth through the water, he can’t stop staring. The concentration on James’s face; the deceptive strength in those arms and upper body; the way James’s thighs brace against the movement of his body. No wonder Val used to like watching the Boat Race.

It’s almost a relief when the faint drizzle that’s hung around for a while turns into full-fledged rain. It’s not that he isn’t enjoying the afternoon on the river with James. It’s that he’s enjoying it too much, and if he’s not careful James is going to notice.

“Best get back, I suppose,” he says, raising his voice to counter the sound of the rain.

James nods. “We’re still a good twenty minutes away. You’re going to get a bit wet, sorry.”

Robbie shrugs. “I won’t melt.” He pulls his hood up, all the same, and James stops rowing for a moment to do the same. The hoods make things a bit easier, he thinks; it’s not as noticeable that he’s watching James.

Abruptly, James breaks into song, and in his surprise Robbie initially doesn’t catch any of the words — until two lines make him laugh out loud.

_Why does it always rain on me?_  
 _Is it because I lied when I was seventeen?_

When James finishes, Robbie decides it’s his turn, and belts out the Phil Collins classic, _I Wish It Would Rain Down_. James follows that with a song Robbie doesn’t know, but he’d guess is called _I’m Only Happy When It Rains._

“First one to have to resort to _Singing in the Rain_ loses,” Robbie pronounces before launching into The Fortunes’ _Here Comes That Rainy Day Feeling Again. _James grins when it’s his turn, and his voice turns husky as he begins Elvis’s _Kentucky Rain.___ And if the lad can sing like that, Robbie’s hearing no more excuses about him being too busy to come over to his and Laura’s with his guitar.

Robbie’s halfway through _It Never Rains In California_ when James deftly eases the boat up to the dock. They’re both soaked but, even cold and sodden, Robbie’s had one of the best afternoons he can remember. He’s grinning, still belting out the chorus as the two of them tie the boat up.

“Just so you know, I would not have lost,” James points out loftily as he stands and swings one leg over to the bank. “Even leaving out songs which sound terrible unaccompanied — the Eurythmics’ _Here Comes the Rain Again_ or Prince’s _Purple Rain_ — I probably had enough to keep going at least another half-hour.”

“Show-off,” Robbie taunts as he reaches out to take James’s hand again. And it wasn’t a coincidence; there’s still that completely unexpected sensation, and reluctance to let the lad’s hand go. 

More than that; now that he’s actually paying attention to his reactions around James, he knows that if he weren’t with Laura he’d be pulling James in for a kiss right this second.

He shakes himself mentally. Can’t have it all, can he? And, again, if he was so stupid as to let James guess at what he’s thinking, it would be completely unfair to the lad. “Come on, man, let’s get out of this downpour. Car’s over there.”

James starts to shake his head. “No, it’s fine—”

“It’s bloody well not fine.” Robbie lays his hand against James’s back and starts guiding him, with a fair degree of force, towards the car park. “Dunno what’s got you so stubborn about accepting lifts lately, but I’m not letting you walk — or get a bus, even — in this wet. Come on.”

With obvious reluctance, James gets into the car. He’s silent until Robbie’s turning onto the main road, and then says, in a tone that makes clear he knows Robbie won’t be happy but it’s none of his bloody business, “I’m not at the same address. It’s all the way across Oxford from you. Just drop me—”

“Just give me the address.” He manages — just — to keep the shock out of his voice. James moved and didn’t tell him? But as soon as James names the road, Robbie understands. “Bloody hell, man, Blackbird Leys?” And now both the reason James moved and why he never told Robbie are clear as day. He couldn’t afford his previous flat — and he was well aware of what Robbie’s reaction would be. “You’re an ex-copper,” Robbie points out, doing his best to stem his fury. “How many times were we in and out of that estate, questioning suspects an’ making arrests? Do you not imagine someone might recognise you?” _And beat you up, or worse?_

And, of course, this is why James has, time and time again, refused the offer of a lift home. And there Robbie’d been assuming it was because James wanted to avoid being alone in close quarters with him, after that almost-kiss.

“I’ve had no trouble.” Again, that tone that’s telling Robbie to stay out of this. “Look, I appreciate the lift, but...” A faint shrug from the damp, silently defiant passenger.

Robbie sighs. “I know, I know. None of my business. Can’t stop me being worried, can you? I mean, if your best mate was...”

At that, James glances in his direction and offers a slightly abashed grimace. “Thanks. But, really, it’s fine. And it’s only temporary.”

Until he finds a proper job, Robbie knows James means. But he’s also well aware that, with the kind of work James is looking for, it could be months before he finds something, and even then he might not start immediately. It’ll be tutoring and singing for his supper, and living in a no doubt horrible bedsit, for ages yet.

And it is awful; there’s the remains of a rusty car parked outside, and the path to the front door is full of litter, a broken pram and old furniture, all of which has been there a very long time judging by the state of it. The house itself is in a state of considerable disrepair. And, as Robbie’d turned into the road, he’d seen a couple of young lads engaging in what he knows full well was a drug purchase. James knows as well, Robbie is completely certain. Fuck.

“I’d ask you in for a cuppa, but you really should go home and dry off.” From James’s tone, anyone who knows him less well than Robbie does would assume he’s absolutely sincere. Robbie, though, knows he’s embarrassed and just wants Robbie out of here. While what Robbie wants is to march the bloke inside, pack up the most necessary of his belongings, and drive him straight home to his and Laura’s. 

But he can’t. It’s not just that James’s pride would never let him agree. It’s not even that it’s Laura’s house; these days, he thinks of it as just as much his. It’s that he’d feel like he was betraying Laura, bringing home a man he wants to kiss and touch and take to bed, every bit as much as he wants to kiss and touch Laura and take her to bed. He’ll never lay a finger on James, of course, but it’s the fact that he wants to that’s important.

“See you,” he says, trying to hide his frustration and despair at having to leave James here. And James doesn’t meet his eyes as he gets out of the car.

* * *

“Christ, Laura, you should have seen the place!” He’s pacing up and down the kitchen. “It’s not that I’m prejudiced. I know — course I do — that plenty of decent people live in that part of town. And I know it’s all he can afford. But the state of the place! It’s practically falling down. Drug dealing on the corner, an’ all. If anyone realises what James used to be...” He shakes his head. “Bugger his pride. I’d’ve made him come home with me, if it wasn’t that—”

Laura touches his arm. “You should have brought him home, Robbie. Of course you should.”

Robbie pulls a face. “But you wouldn’t want—”

“Have you forgotten what I told you when James first resigned? He’s got a home with us if he needs it. I meant it then, Robbie, and I mean it now.” She grips his arms and shakes him. “What the hell are you waiting for? We’ll go over there now—”

“No.” He takes a deep breath. It’s time to tell her, and of course to grovel for hiding it from her for so long. He takes her hand and tugs her to the dining table. “Need to talk to you first. About James... and about me.”

“Oh?” There’s nothing but curious interest on Laura’s face.

“Almost wish you’d never told me about James. You know, having... feelings... for me.” Robbie drops into a chair, mouth downturned. “No, that’s not fair,” he adds immediately. “It’s not your fault. It’s me.”

“Why? What’s happened?” Laura leans into his shoulder.

“Haven’t been able to get it out of me head, that’s what. And it’s getting worse.”

“Oh, dear.” She massages his shoulder, which is nice, but guilt floods him. He’s accepting her comfort under false pretences.

“Laura, I—” He rubs his eyebrow, and immediately sees her expression change. It’s a dead giveaway, of course. If anyone ever got him into the interview room, they’d be able to read him like a book. But then, he’s not trying to hide this from her any more — either what happened, or the guilt that’s wracked him ever since. “I should have told you at the time. I didn’t because... well, I just put it down to nostalgia and alcohol, an’ thought nothing more of it. Few weeks ago, I... well, I almost kissed him.”

“Ah.” Laura sits next to him, reaching for his hand. “Almost?”

“Yeah. It was the night before I moved in here. We were talkin’, and... well, I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly we were lookin’ at each other, and—” He shakes his head. “He got up and left, but if he’d stayed one more second...” He would have kissed James, he knows it. It was James who put a stop to it.

And he still has no idea how he got from having a natter with James — something he’s done a thousand times before — to almost snogging the bloke. Now, though, after this afternoon, he can’t deny any longer why he’s kept having even more thoughts about the lad over the weeks since. He fancies James. Fancies him rotten.

He looks straight at Laura, letting her see the truth of his feelings in his face. He still loves her as much as ever, but how can she possibly believe that, given what he’s just told her? How can she possibly want to keep him in her life?

“I’m sorry, love,” he tells her. “I’ve no idea how I could want... You know how I feel about y—” 

Laura’s hand covers his as her face creases in sympathy. “Poor James. Knowing his tendency to blame himself for absolutely everything, he’ll have been torturing himself for all these weeks ever since. You should have just kissed him, Robbie. Put both of you out of your misery.”

“What?” He stares at her, disbelieving. She’s not upset at his confession? “You _want_ me to—”

“Now that you mention it...” Laura’s smile turns impish. “Yes, actually. Though I admit I’d prefer to be around to see it.” She winks.

Robbie’s floundering, lost for words. “But... you... You’re joking!” His hand falls away from hers. “You’re not... getting tired of me, are you?” There’s a plea in his voice, and he just doesn’t care. Laura’s too important to lose over this. 

Though didn’t he decide, a few months ago, that James is too important to lose over his relationship with Laura? Not that he would ever have contemplated letting Laura slip out of his life, but he’d vowed to do whatever it took to keep James there as well. 

In answer, she leans in and kisses him, deep and lingering. “Does this feel as if I am?”

“Then why’d you say that about James?”

“Oh, Robbie. I’ve known for years that you love him — and that he’s in love with you. For a long time, I was afraid that, once you were ready to try again, you’d choose him over me.” 

“But...” He shakes his head in denial. “You know I’m not... that way.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You did almost kiss him.”

He can’t argue with that. So — what? Is he bisexual? Or is it just James? 

He doesn’t ask the question, but Laura answers it anyway. “Do labels really matter? What’s most important is the people involved.”

“Course it is.” He reaches for Laura’s hand again. “I love you, pet. You know that, don’t you?”

She smiles, and brings his hand to her lips. “Of course I do, Robbie. But I think it’s time we all admitted there are three of us in this relationship, don’t you? You love James too. Don’t shut him out.”

He does love James. It makes sense now, the way he’s been around the bloke lately, afraid of losing him after he said he was resigning. Wanting to kiss him. But he loves Laura too, and he won’t betray her, even if she is being generous enough to — to what? What is she suggesting? 

“I’m not clear,” he says carefully. “What is it you’re saying? That I should... just kiss him?”

“And anything else he or you might fancy.” She winks at him, and heat floods him — embarrassment, or... interest? _Shag_ James? But he’d never... he wouldn’t want to... Bugger. His body’s reaction makes the truth only too clear. 

Still, though, it’s not fair to Laura. Not one bit. “You’re... offerin’ to—” He hesitates. “Share me with James? You — you don’t have to do that.”

Laura grins impishly and, in a sudden movement, slides over onto his lap. “Actually, I was rather hoping that you might share him with me as well.” She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him again. “Though of course he may not be interested in that possibility.”

Heat courses through him again. The _three_ of them? 

He should be appalled at the thought. But it’s only making him more aroused. “Christ, Laura.” His arms tighten around her. “Never knew you were into kinky stuff.”

“It’s called polyamory, actually,” she corrects him, in her best _clever pathologist to ignorant detective_ voice. “Very popular these days.”

Yeah. It’s not as if he isn’t aware of that. He didn’t get to be a detective inspector without learning a lot about the workings of the world and of human nature. He had no idea that Laura would fancy that sort of thing... or that he would himself.

He kisses her, hard. “I think it’s a bloody brilliant idea,” he tells her, when he has breath enough to speak again. “It’s James who’ll be the problem.”

Laura strokes his face. “I think we could be very persuasive. Besides, we know how he feels about you. It’s just a matter of getting him to believe I’m really fine with it.” 

Robbie nods, then starts to protest as she slides off his lap. “Have you forgotten something?” she says, eyebrows arched. “Convincing our young friend to abandon his current residence?”

“Right.” A bit sheepishly, he gets to his feet, hoping that the evidence of what the past few minutes has done to him isn’t too obvious. But then he thinks of James, and that bloody awful house, and anything else is forgotten. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“No.” James’s refusal is flat, emphatic.

“James—” Robbie begins, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. Of course he understands that, to James, this feels like nothing more than gross interference based on pity. 

James knew why they’d come, of course. As soon as he’d opened the door of this grotty bedsit and seen the two of them, his expression had shuttered. He’d invited them in, but it’s clear they’re unwelcome. 

Laura brushes past Robbie and goes to stand in front of James, reaching for his hands and holding them. “James, I know you think we’re interfering, and I don’t blame you. You’re an adult and of course you have a right to make your own decisions. But look at it from our perspective. How would you feel, seeing someone you love in this situation? Of course you’d want to do something about it.”

The barriers come down, but only for a moment, and Robbie can see the confusion in James’s eyes. “Of course we both love you, you silly sausage,” Laura continues, brisk and matter-of-fact. “And if you didn’t know that, you’re a disgrace to your alma mater.”

James’s gaze flits, in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it instant, to Robbie, but Robbie doesn’t miss it, nor the uncertainty in the lad’s eyes. He steps forward and lays a hand on James’s shoulder. “Listen to her, man. Crap at saying the right thing, me, but Laura’s got the knack, all right.”

James swallows, but the important thing is that he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to escape the hold they both have on him. Laura speaks again, still matter-of-fact. “Anyway, don’t worry, you can make yourself useful. Robbie’s told me you’re a far better cook than he is, and since I’m not one to cook when I can just throw something in the microwave...” 

“He can sing for his supper, too,” Robbie adds with a grin. “About time we got to hear this talent he’s been displaying around town for weeks.”

At that, James’s lips twitch. “How could I possibly deprive you? But,” he adds firmly, “much as I appreciate your kindness, it’ll only be until I find something decent that’s affordable.”

Laura tuts. “We’ll discuss _that_ later. Right, let’s get you packed and home.”

* * *

Robbie’s in the kitchen, pushing the plunger down on the cafetiere, the following morning when James comes down. He’d heard the shower a few minutes earlier and put the kettle on.

“Morning.” He gives James the same sort of gently mocking smile he’d given the bloke on the very rare occasion James had arrived later to work than himself. “Sleep well?”

James nods, though the shadows around his eyes tells a different story. Still without speaking, he reaches for the coffee Robbie’s just poured him and added milk and sugar to James’s taste, and takes a couple of gulps without care for its temperature. Difficult night, clearly. Only to be expected, though it’s a pity after the companionable evening the three of them had spent together over a bottle or two of wine. James had been persuaded, without great difficulty, to get his guitar out, and he’d played for close to an hour: all music that wasn’t familiar to Robbie, but which he’d liked. James’s talent, as he’d played, had been obvious, too. Then he and Laura had got into an animated conversation about music and instruments, including discussion of possible duets they could try together some time, and Robbie had just sat back and let them talk, enjoying the sound of the two people he loved enjoying each other’s company and finding shared interests. 

It’d been reassuring for Robbie, too: he’d seen that Laura hadn’t just been trying to make him feel less guilty earlier about his feelings for James. She’s interested too; he’d seen it in the way she’d looked at James occasionally, and in her animated conversation. James’s ease with Laura, exhibiting none of the reserve he typically showed in conversation with most other people, told Robbie that this just might work — as long as James wants it too.

Laura had hugged James as they’d all gone off to bed and, while Robbie hadn’t quite gone that far, he’d squeezed James’s shoulder with a warmth that, he’d hoped, conveyed something of his deep fondness for the lad.

Robbie gestures to the kitchen table and the breakfast items already set out, and James joins him. “Laura had an early shift today,” he explains, pushing a box of muesli across the table. “Still, means she’ll get home at a decent time, unless she gets a big case, of course.”

James nods. “You two have been very kind,” he says, and although the words suggest appreciation Robbie can hear James’s reluctance to be here, his conviction that he’s an unwanted guest. “I’m going to start applying for more jobs. Positions that’d be available immediately.”

So that he’ll be able to afford a better place to live than that awful bedsit, and get out of Robbie and Laura’s home. Robbie shakes his head. “Up to you, man. Still hate the idea of seeing you doing a job you won’t like, though.” No point directly trying to talk James out of the idea, after all.

James shrugs. “It’d only be a stopgap until I find something permanent.” He shakes his head briefly, almost impatiently. “Feels as if I’ve been sleepwalking since we left the Force. About time I started acting like a responsible adult.”

Robbie suspects James might have finished that sentence with _Instead of taking advantage of the pity of friends_. And, if he really thinks that, he has no idea of how much he means to them, does he? “Didn’t seem like sleepwalking to me. You’ve had to completely re-evaluate what you want to do with your life, and find a way of supporting yourself while you did it—”

“And I did a great job of that, didn’t I?” James interrupts, tone flat. But then he exhales. “Sorry. I know you and Laura are being very—”

“Kind, so you said,” Robbie finishes. “It’s not that at all, but trying to get you to see that is like...” He smiles wryly. “Trying to persuade me my theory’s wrong when I’ve got the bit between me teeth.”

He’s got James’s attention; the bloke looks at him, expression arrested. “What is it, then?”

“Like Laura said.” Robbie gets up and starts clearing away the breakfast dishes; easier for both of them if he’s not looking straight at James while he says this. “We love you, lad. Like family, you are. An’ not like a son, in case that’s what you’re thinking. Always been the three of us, all through the years, hasn’t it? That hasn’t stopped just because the job has. I’ve missed you,” he adds as he stacks plates in the dishwasher. “So has Laura. You’re here because we want you to be. That awful place you were living in was a convenient excuse.”

Before James can say anything — and, given the lad’s shell-shocked look, Robbie’s not sure he would have done — Robbie sets a key on the table in front of him. “You’ll need this. Now, I’m off to me volunteering this morning, but in the afternoon I’m gonna start replacing the floor in the conservatory. If you’re not busy, you could give me a hand?”

As he’d expected, James leapt on that. “I’d be delighted to.” He stands, pocketing the key. “What time? And would you like me to make you lunch first?”

“Lunch’d be nice, man. Around one? Though only ‘cause it’s your first day. We share cooking an housework here. Think Laura’s even got a timetable somewhere — have to add you into it now,” he quips.

“What, so if it’s Monday it’s your turn to scrub the floors?” James mocks, a faint note of incredulity in his voice.

“Nah, that’s Saturdays.” Robbie grins, patting James’s shoulder. “Your turn this weekend, probably.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” James promises with droll enthusiasm.

* * *

Later that afternoon, they’re both sweaty and dirty, but the old ceramic tiles are in a bin in the back garden, and the floor’s ready to be cleaned, smoothed out and prepared for new tiles. Robbie pats James on the back. “Thanks, man. That’d have taken me a lot longer on me own.”

James frowns. “I hope you wouldn’t have tried to tackle it on your own. Surely Laura wouldn’t have wanted — I mean, your back?”

“Is much better these days, thanks. Ah, should’ve asked you, I suppose, but you’ve been so busy since we left the job. I mean, before yesterday how long was it since we met up?”

James looks away, exhaling loudly. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I... well, maybe I got it wrong, but I’ve just been... reluctant to take up your time when — well, Laura has more right...”

“You bloody did get it wrong, man!” Robbie glares at James, then shakes his head. “Ah, well, I know now, an’ I hope you do, too. Told you this morning. You’re as important to me as Laura. Never wanted to stop spending time with you, did I? An’ just so you know, Laura says the same.”

At that, James slowly turns back to face Robbie. “I didn’t realise... I...”

“Yeah, well, you do now.” Robbie wraps an arm around James’s shoulder and squeezes, pulling the bloke close to him and turning his head to face James. 

They’re very close, suddenly; close enough that if Robbie moved just an inch or two nearer he could kiss James. He swallows, breath tight. James’s eyes have widened, and Robbie can see, just for a moment, the sheer _longing_ in his bonny lad’s eyes. 

He moves fractionally closer, anticipating the moment — and, abruptly, James breaks away. “We should get cleaned up, and won’t Laura be home soon? I’ll see what I could make for dinner.”

Robbie nods, following James back into the house. The last thing he’s going to do is push James into something he may not be comfortable with. Just because he and Laura know what they want and are open to the idea doesn’t mean James will be — and the last thing he wants, too, is to make the bloke feel that the roof over his head is conditional on anything. And, of course, like a bloody idiot he hasn’t actually managed to explain anything to James. He’d assume that Robbie would be betraying Laura — and that his own betrayal, of both of them, would be far worse. 

Best be careful for the time being, until he gets a chance to talk to James properly. Or Laura does. She’d do it better.

* * *

After dinner, James gets his guitar and announces that he has a gig. Once Robbie realises the lad intends to take a bus — a bit of a torturous journey from here — he throws James his car keys. “No arguments,” he says firmly as James is clearly about to refuse. “I know you’re a good driver. Just need to phone the insurance company an’ add you. And before you object again, it’ll be handy having you able to drive. Can send you out for stuff if I don’t feel like going.”

“Of course, sir.” James’s lips turn up very slightly at the corners. “Even now, your wish is my command.”

Robbie throws a cushion at him. “Get on with you.” James waits, however, until Robbie’s made the call to the insurance company, then leaves with a grin and a wave.

He’s not back by the time Robbie and Laura go to bed, and over the next week they don’t see much of James at all, other than breakfast and dinner most days. He’s out most days for tutoring sessions, he explains, and it seems that just about every evening he’s either playing guitar or tutoring. But he is home some of the time; several times, Robbie’s come back from the youth centre where he volunteers to find things done around the house: one day, a pile of ironing neither he nor Laura had got around to; another time, the entire house had been vacuumed and polished; and now he’s just walked into the conservatory to find the floor’s been cleaned and repaired, all ready for a new surface to be laid. Every couple of days, as well, James has obviously been shopping: there’s more food, wine and beer in the fridge.

“You really don’t have to do all this, you know,” Laura tells James over dinner — which, again, he’s cooked. “You’re wearing yourself out with dashing here, there and everywhere, and then slaving away here.”

“The tutoring ends next week.” James frowns. “I’m hoping my clients will want to restart in January, though. I haven’t had responses to any of my job applications.”

Robbie gives James a sympathetic grimace. “Doesn’t make sense to me. Clever bloke like you, you should be snapped up.” He doesn’t ask, but wonders, whether James is going to consider postgraduate studies again.

Laura’s looking thoughtful. “Maybe you’re applying for the wrong jobs. Didn’t you say that teaching might be a long shot? And anyway... well, I’m sure you’re a very good tutor, but I’m not certain teaching would hold your interest long-term.”

James sighs. “I’m not sure either. Maybe I should just go back to university and choose a different field entirely. Law, maybe...”

“Can’t see you as a solicitor,” Robbie comments. “Conveyancing or divorces or stuff like that. Or are you thinking of the bar? Helping criminals get off?” he adds, pulling a face.

“Some of them are innocent, you know,” James points out, but shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe CPS. Though, really, I think I’m more interested in reducing crime than either prosecuting or defending it.”

“Easier ways to do that, lad,” Robbie says, and he wonders why it’s not occurred to him before. “There’s crime prevention an’ education charities, and there’s jobs in the police. Public education, specific diversion schemes, community policing, you name it. An’ there’s always some new trial or research project in partnership with the Home Office. You should talk to Innocent.”

James’s expression is arrested. “You think she’d have me back? And recommend me for something like that?”

“Course she would.” Robbie pats James’s shoulder. “She was very unhappy when you resigned. Not just because she was worried about you, but also because you were the most talented young officer she’d come across in years.”

“ _Worried_ about me?”

“Naturally. You were exhibiting all the classic signs of burnout, among other things,” Laura comments. “Which will be exactly why you haven’t been able to settle on anything since then.”

James appears struck by that, and he falls silent until they’re clearing the meal away. Then he gives a decisive nod. “I’ll phone Innocent tomorrow. See if she’ll give me an appointment.”

“She will.” There’s no doubt in Robbie’s mind, or his voice. 

It’s not discussed again, but when James is leaving for tonight’s gig he goes to Laura and hugs her. She stretches up to press a kiss to his cheek. Then he comes to Robbie, who passes him the car keys and waits, one eyebrow raised. With a faint grin, James hugs him too. “Thank you,” he says, quietly sincere, then picks up his guitar and is gone.

* * *

Robbie’s just got home from the youth centre when his phone rings. It’s James. He must have finished his meeting with Innocent. “Yeah, hi. How’d it go?”

“Where are you?” There’s suppressed excitement in James’s voice.

“At home. You coming back?”

“Actually, I’d like to take you out for lunch. The Old Vic?”

Ah — so it went very well, then. “Yeah, all right. Want me to pick you up?”

They arrange to meet outside the nick, and James is waiting just inside the car park when Robbie drives in. Under James’s long wool coat, he can see the suit and tie the bloke put on for his meeting; it’d felt odd to see James back in his work clothes after more than three months.

They chat about generalities in the car, and it’s not until they’re in the Old Vic, pints in front of them and their food ordered, that James gets to the point. “You were right, of course. She not only made clear that she was pleased to see me; she also said she’d been hoping I’d get in touch. Apparently, I could have had my old job back at any time. But she understands that I don’t want to do front-line detection — and,” James adds, “it’s not just about what I said to you the day I told you I was resigning. I... don’t want to do that job without you.”

Robbie nods. “Felt the same, didn’t I? So?”

“She says she’ll keep an eye out for the kind of position she thinks would be a good fit for me — probably in crime prevention or policy. In the meantime, she needs someone to work on a project for her. Mostly data analysis and report-writing, and you know I always enjoyed doing that. Wouldn’t want to do it all the time, but for a few months it could be interesting.”

“That’s brilliant!” Robbie leans forward and squeezes James’s hand. “When do you start?”

“I have to reapply, go through the screening and so on, but I should be able to start in January. She did insist on one condition, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Robbie has a sneaking suspicion he knows what it is.

“I’m to start preparing for OSPRE straight away. And, yes, I will,” he adds immediately. “You don’t need to apply the thumbscrews.”

Robbie grins. “Glad to hear it.”

Even without James’s assurance that he’s happy with Innocent’s plans for him, Robbie would see it just by looking at the lad. James is far more relaxed than he’s been in... oh, at least six months. He’s smiling easily, and everything in his body language says not just relief at finding a solution at last, but also excitement, eagerness to get started. 

“I’m happy for you, man.” Robbie raises his glass in an unspoken toast.

James knocks their glasses together. “Thank you. You and Laura both. I wouldn’t have thought of any of this if not for you.” 

Their meals arrive, and as they eat James tells Robbie more about his conversation with Innocent, and some of the ideas she’s suggested he consider. Robbie joins in with some thoughts of his own, all the time feeling his own worry about the lad dissipate entirely. James will be fine, and he can drop all these bits of jobs he’s been doing.

He’s so focused on drinking in the happiness radiating from James that he almost misses the bloke’s abrupt change of subject as they’ve finished eating. “I can start looking for another flat now. Get out of your and Laura’s way.”

“No.” His protest is immediate. “No, you don’t have—” He breaks off, glancing around. The middle of the Old Vic is not the most appropriate place for this conversation. “Come for a walk?” he asks, pushing his seat back.

James stands as well, though he’s looking surprised. They make their way outside, and then Robbie leads the way to the canal path. He’s expecting James to light up as they walk, but he doesn’t. At Robbie’s raised eyebrow, James smiles faintly. “Cutting down. Actually, I’m close to giving up.”

“Good for you.” Robbie pats James on the shoulder, and then leaves his hand there. “Not that it matters to me. Got used to it over the years, didn’t I?”

James nods. “Robbie, you and Laura have been great, but you know I can’t—”

He presses harder on the lad’s shoulder. “Haven’t you been listening over the past week? I mean, all right, if you prefer your own space — but we like havin’ you around. Even if we haven’t seen all that much of you.”

James pauses, turning to look at Robbie. “I remember what you said that first morning, yes.”

“Though I was just bein’ kind, eh? Should know better than that, soft lad.”

James swallows, and Robbie can see a troubled look come over his face. He gnaws on his lip, then takes a deep breath. “Robbie. I know both times we’ve each pretended it didn’t happen, but it did. I don’t understand why _you_ — but it happened and if I’m still living at your home there’s every chance it will again. Above all, that’s why I need to leave. It’s not fair to you, and most of all to Laura.”

He’s let James stumble to the end of his guilt-ridden and — for James — muddled speech, mainly because it gives him the perfect opening. “Week or so ago, I’d’ve agreed with you, bonny lad. But, y’see, Laura an’ I talked, before we moved you in. Told her everything, not that it was much of a surprise to her. Said she’s known for ages how I feel about you.” And how James feels about him, though he’s not going to embarrass the lad by saying so. 

“She does?” James looks horrified. “Oh, god, I never intended... I’m so sorry. I’ll pack my things and be gone before she’s home—”

“Not what I meant, man.” Robbie slides his hand over James’s back. “Look, it’s not what I expected either, but Laura’s all right with it. Better than all right.”

“ _What?_ ” 

Robbie shrugs. “Says she wants to watch.” 

He’s going for nonchalant, but it doesn’t quite work. As for James, colour floods his face. “You’re... not joking.”

He shakes his head. “Thought she was at first, then I realised she was serious. And that... I like the idea. And, yeah, I know you might have problems with it. It’s not exactly... well, in keeping with Catholic teaching.”

“Nor is loving another man,” James points out quietly. “It took me a while, but I came to terms with that.” Hope is starting to dawn in his eyes, but then he shakes his head. “It still doesn’t seem fair to Laura. I couldn’t... not if there was even a chance I’d be making her unhappy.”

Robbie nods. “What if you could make her happy? Well, happier, I mean. Meant it when I said she’s okay with this.” James gives him a questioning look, and Robbie continues, pushing past his own awkwardness. “D’you like Laura?”

James blinks. “Of course I do. You know that.”

“No, I mean... _like_ her... oh, bugger it, d’you fancy her?” 

James’s jaw drops, and he appears to be struggling for words. Finally, he says, “You mean... Laura... and me...?” Robbie nods. “And you wouldn’t mind?”

“Would be a bit hypocritical if I did, lad, wouldn’t I?”

“Still,” James insists.

Robbie swallows. “Erm... y’know I mentioned Laura says she’d want to watch us? Well... when she told me she’d be up for it with you if you were interested, I... knew exactly what she meant.” And, Christ, does he. Even now, desperate as he is to kiss James himself, he’s got an image in his head of Laura sitting on James’s lap, arms wound around his neck, snogging the life out of him, and he _wants_ it. Now. 

James is silent, and Robbie’s just starting to think that this has all been a mistake, that James won’t be able to contemplate this... polyamorous relationship, and that getting back even to the friendship they’ve had will be nothing short of impossible, when suddenly a wide smile completely lights up James’s narrow face.

“If you’re absolutely _certain_ you both want this... I can’t think of anything I’d like better.”

“We do.” Robbie slides his hand across James’s back to his arm, and then down until he’s gripping James’s hand. “Won’t be easy, though,” he cautions, because he owes it to James to be honest. “You know everyone’s going to assume that me an’ Laura are the couple an’ you’re our lodger. Friend. And... well, the truth’s nobody’s business but ours, but still...”

James shrugs. “So?” His tone’s completely indifferent. Well, he’s never been one to care about what the rest of the world thinks, has he? Robbie should have remembered that.

Though there is one thing he can promise. “Me family’ll know. I’m not gonna hide you where Lyn’s concerned.”

“You don’t need—” James begins, but Robbie interrupts.

“Yeah, I do. You’re every bit as important to me, an’ I won’t have Lyn see you as anything less than what you are.”

James seems to have difficulty knowing how to respond to that, and Robbie’s reminded of the lad’s reaction in that horrible bedsit, when Laura told him how much the two of them cared about him. Robbie squeezes his hand. “One of these days, you’re not gonna be surprised when I say something like that. But enough yakking out of you,” he adds with a wink. “Think it’s about time we got this right.”

He drops James’s hand, instead curling his hand around the back of James’s neck, pulling his lad’s face down so that he can reach up and, finally, kiss him.

* * *

They’re cuddling and snogging on the couch a few hours later when Laura arrives home from work. James instinctively starts to pull back, but Robbie holds on to him. “We’re in here, love.”

Laura comes into the living-room, shedding her coat and scarf on the way — then stops dead when she sees the two of them. And then a huge smile covers her face. “ _Finally_.”

James turns to look straight at Laura for a long moment, and then, smiling, shifts his attention back to Robbie and moves in for a long, lingering kiss. It’s fucking fantastic, and involves quite a bit of tongue action. When James pulls back, Robbie sneaks a look at Laura. Her eyes are open wide, and she’s clinging rather hard to an armchair, apparently for support.

James unwinds one arm from Robbie and extends it across the room. “Laura.” There’s a world of meaning in his tone: warmth, affection, invitation, passion. 

Robbie simply waits and watches as his other love walks across to the two of them and takes James’s hand in hers. When she’s standing in front of them, James tugs, a bit sharply, and Laura almost tumbles into his lap. Robbie’s breath catches, and he can’t take his eyes off the two of them.

James brings one hand up to cup Laura’s face, his long fingers sliding into her blonde hair. Neither of them so much as glances at Robbie, and that’s how it should be, as James lowers his head, far too bloody slowly for Robbie’s liking, and claims Laura’s lips. It’s a bit tentative at first, but then Laura catches James’s face in her hands and takes control, at the same time wriggling into a more comfortable position on his lap.

And, Christ, if the three of them don’t get up those stairs in the next ten minutes Robbie’s going to embarrass himself right where he is.

They break the kiss, and Laura kisses her way along James’s jaw until she’s nibbling at his ear, their two fair heads close together — and James stretches his free hand out to Robbie. He comes closer, wrapping one arm around Laura and sliding his other hand around James’s neck, moving in to claim his own kiss.

Later, he and James will get to tell Laura how this happened, how they got to this point — and, nearly forgotten in all this new and bloody fantastic development, James’s career news. Not now, though. He hugs both of them to him and murmurs his suggestion that they take this upstairs, where at the very least there’s a lot more room.

Laura immediately slides off James’s lap and stands. James is slower to move, and Robbie interprets the mildly stunned look on his face as meaning that the daft sod’s still having to pinch himself to convince himself that this is really happening. He shakes his head, about to say something, but Laura gets in first. “James Hathaway, you can waste time persuading yourself that we really want to shag you if you must, but it’d be a much better use of everyone’s time if you just got your arse up those stairs.” 

James lets out a shout of laughter, then springs to his feet. He doesn’t immediately head for the stairs, though. Instead, he reaches for both of them, hugging them tightly. “Laura Hobson, Robbie Lewis... I haven’t said this yet, but I love you. Both of you.”

Robbie hugs him back. “Good lad.” 

“Should think so, too,” Laura comments, and she strokes James’s back.

“ _Omne trium perfectum_ ,” James murmurs softly as they all walk hand in hand to the stairs. “I should have known.” Before Robbie can demand an explanation in normal people’s language, James adds, “Commonly known as the rule of three — that everything that comes in threes is perfect.”

“Well, naturally.” Laura smirks.

“I can go along with that,” Robbie agrees. “Mind, that’s not an excuse for you to talk Latin in bed!”

* * *

**Terminus**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been close to 18 months in the writing. I started it not long after _Ramblin' Boy_ because of the stricken look on James's face when he saw Laura kiss Robbie. And then _Intelligent Design_ added additional dimensions. Right from the start, it was intended to end in this way, with a triad relationship. However, it stalled around the time that half the fandom seemed to be writing threesome fics, and I only made a serious attempt to resurrect it with the advent of Uniquepov's birthday.
> 
> I do want to thank everyone who was aware that this had been a WIP in 2013 and who occasionally asked about it and gave me encouragement to finish, however. And in particular Divingforstones, who wasn't aware of the WIP last year, but has been incredibly helpful as a means of reassurance and providing feedback on chunks as I wrote, with some very useful insights. All very much appreciated!


End file.
